Little Itches
by maskedgoomba
Summary: Small Tales from the Suikoden World: Hidden scenes, cookies, oneshots, you name it. Itch Three: Moving on Can Tir do it? Can you?
1. The Mind Eye

Itch One: Minds Eye

_Moments before the massacre of the Unicorn Brigade..._

She was running through a giant field of barley. The yellowish stalks towered over her, blocking herview of the moonless night sky. The field was endless. Every turn right, every turn left, she found herself surrounded by the giant yellowish plants. It was a nightmarish cage of soft yellow, and she was trapped inside.

Something was chasing her. She didn't know what it was, but she knew it was very close behind. So close behind, she could literally feel its thick, putrid breath blowing over her neck. She could feel its clammy dead palm brushing against her arms, the sharp-sting of teeth gnashing at the heels of her feet. But even worse, she could feel whatever was chasing her– _IT_ – she could feel _IT'_s need to find her, _IT's _need to take her…

And so she ran, pumping her ninja legs as fast as she could.

Kasumi was fast, but _IT_ was even faster. She was a trained to be agile, to be quick, but she was only human. She could already feel the tired, dull burning sensation in her chest as she struggled to take in great mouthfuls of air. Her head was spinning, her mouth was parched, and her legs felt as heavy as solid granite.

She was slowing down.

And _IT_ was not.

_IT _was driven by something supernatural. Something demonic, even. Its legs didn't ache, and its lungs didn't burn from the lack of oxygen. Hell, _IT_ probably didn't have lungs, or legs, and didn't even need air.

Not knowing why, she knew, somewhere deep down, she just knew _IT _would never stop chasing her. She was going to die and there was not a damn thing she could do about it.

And despite her impending death, she couldn't help but laugh.

She heard the tales from her fellow comrades who had come precariously close to joining the next life. A great tunnel of white light. Faint glimpses of loved ones already on the other side waiting. The entirety of a person's life; memories, successes, regrets, and failures laid out with unflinching clarity and honesty.

The spirits did not gift her with any of those. For Kasumi, there was no white light and no comforting images of loved ones. People who didn't even die in the end were granted the white light. Here she was, truly going to die, and no damn light. She felt absolutely cheated.

Yet as she ran, one regret came unbidden from the back of her mind. A deep rooted regret; a wish, a longing she had long since buried under never truly believed excuses of being _too childish_ and _stupid._ Or so she thought.

_Tir..._

And _IT _suddenly appeared in front of her. _IT's _mouth opened, and it's black tongue, forged from the darkest and purest steel, shot out and impaled her through the chest.

**Then she woke up.**


	2. Unwell

_Itch Two: Unwell_

Cleo opened the curtains and cracked open a window. The sun was already out, it's light cutting brilliant through the morning clouds, and covering her skin, warming it.

She went about cleaning for the day. She finished quickly, like everyday, taking about nine minutes and thirty-eight seconds; a new record. It didn't surprise her. The only mess to clean was her own.

With her spare time, she writes in her journal. Daily entries usual, twice a day, sometimes three if you're counting, often times many times more. The entries are about many things; a funny thought, a witty observation (or at least she thought to be witty), musical pieces she composed, anything that she fancied really-- the small things, the big things, the nothings, perhaps everything.

She passed her time like this, and everyday, before she realized it, the sun would have already laid down his head behind the mountains, awakening his sleeping wife, the moon.

Some described the nights as cold. Cleo would describe it as freezing and brutal. She closed the windows, lite candles, even going so far as to wrap her naked body in her bed comforter, but nothing helped.

Sometimes she would walk to the bathroom, and the strain from lifting her body up and down the stairs made her delirious with pain. And many a night --every night, in actuality-- it hurt to simply breath; each forward and backward pitch of her lungs leaving her sick and weak. She wrote in her journal about this, and to quote her, "suffocating in a coffin of burning snow."

She wrote a total of two entries about this feeling, and then stopped on the third. But it wasn't because the feeling disappeared, oh no, but because it was always there; a constant, like the chores she had to do, the faucet that always dripped, and the nocturnal mice that scuttled about the house. Later on, she mused lightly in her journal and wondered if she simply became used to the feeling… numb to it, even.

Then one day, she awoke to hear strange noises in the kitchen. She tiptoed down the stairs, inched her way to the kitchen door, and peaked in. Three figures stood huddled together near the kitchen stove.

Cleo felt an odd sensation grow in the pit of her stomach. It was tiny at first, but in an instant, in a heartbeat, it swept her through her entire body like a flood, spreading from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. It was a warm feeling; a mish-mash of wonder, warmth, and relief.

And then, the figures turned around, she smiled, and their glowing and sorely-missed faces smiled back at her.

Pahn spoke of running out of money, Gremio spoke of missing his bed, and the Young Master spoke of nothing at all; merely intent on tugging at Gremio's ears as he tried to cook.

But amongst the talks of money and travel, the silence, the smiles, and the teasing, Cleo heard but one thing.

_We're Home._

_**Fin**_

_**(Home are the people who carry our heart)**_


	3. Clothes

_Itch Three: Clothes_

Tir tossed and turned on his side of the bed. The sheets were too rough he felt; the fabric deceptively shiny like silk had the coarseness of a servant's washing stones. Even the new pajamas worn on his now twenty-year old body felt oppressive and suffocating: almost to point being alive, he thought wildly. Like a boa constricting around a helpless bunny...

Or like the soul eater, a living, laughing blanket of ice and fire that wrapped all around him, numbing him, burning him, and mocking him at the same time.

But he shook the thoughts from his mind; dismissing them as memories from a life long past. No longer relevant and easily buried like a body in the earth or bones covered in a sandstorm.

It has been four years since he relinquished the power of the Soul Eater. Two years since he truly began his new life. And one year since a shadow that had no name threatened to rip away the small shred of happiness he had finally claimed for his own.

He felt two a pair of comforting arms circle his chest. Warm, comforting, and bestowing a feeling he'd only been recently reacquainted with. A feeling he lived so long without and had never dared to hope to feel it again.

"Troubled?" Kasumi whispered, feeling the side of her warm head press against his upper back.

"Not really. Now go back to sleep." He spoke softly, not really sure if she could hear him.

Her arms tightened around his body. Oh, she heard. "Liar." She said, her voice low and hurt.

He felt his breath leave him. He lied and brushed her aside when she only wanted to see if he was okay. "Maybe a little bit troubled."

"A lot troubled?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me?"

And so he told her. The feeling he's been having. The clothes and the bed sheets and what it meant: the restlessness, the unease, everything.

When he finished, he couldn't decide if he should be sad or encourage or angry at her reaction.

She had laughed.

"You silly," She spoke very lightly, making his problems as simple and trivial as choosing clothes in the morning or forgetting to shower before bed. "If the bed sheets bother you that much, we'll just throw it away."

She pulled the sheets from around them and tossed them off the bed and to the floor. "See?" she said.

He turned toward, face to face. "Can it really be that simple? Can I just throw it away?"

"It can be." She lost her levity then as she closed her eyes, learned forward, and kissed him on the forehead. "Everything can be simple. Just as long as you want it to be."

Tir stared at the face of his loving wife and desperately etched her expression in his mind's eye. Someday and someday soon, when things became less simple than they were suppose to be, he would draw on her expression, made simple and full with her love for him, and make things as simple as he knew it should be.

And when Tir pulled off his pajamas and threw them to the floor, he was pleasantly surprised to find Kasumi undressed as well.

She winked at him. "My PJ's were bothering me too."

**_Fin_**

**_(Touch changes. Love changes)_**

**_----_**

**So Kasumi is not her shy self, but marriage changes a person. So yeah.**


End file.
